


Resurface

by lightningwaltz



Category: Messiah - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s not something that’s easy to forget.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurface

**Author's Note:**

> Judging by the first stageplay, Haku has those nightmares about this past. And in the Eisei drama they seem to chill out on Eiri's bed fairly often. So I started wondering what might happen if Eiri heard Haku having one of those nightmares. Not much else going on here, I'm afraid, but this was interesting to write.

Eiri’s eyes should pass over the candy wrappers at this point, but their incongruity stands out in the landscape of Sakura. They shadow Haku everywhere he goes, which means they’re all over Eiri’s bed nowadays. He often counts them just before naps, as though they’re a flock of brightly colored, rectangular sheep. An annoyance that lulls him into his dreams. The packaging often reflects the holidays, and Eiri wouldn’t need a calendar- wouldn’t need to set foot outside at all- to venture a guess at the current season. 

Tonight, when he rolls over, his ear lands on one of the wrappers, and the crackling sound smacks him right out of near-sleep. It’s not as shocking as a bucket of cold water, but almost as effective as one of Haku’s many alarms. 

Few rooms are completely without light, and for some reason he stares at this particular wrapper instead of tossing it away. He tends to think of all this debris as a near solid mass, something that builds up and never quite dissipates. He remembers, now, that that isn’t quite right. There are different types of candy, produced by different companies. ‘Fun size,’ all of them, and all with their own packaging. It wouldn't be like sticking your hand into a package of M&Ms and losing track of how much you eat. For each piece of candy, Haku had to consciously choose to tear it open (sometimes with his fingers, sometimes with his teeth) then he would throw the debris wherever it might lay. 

Currently, the numbers on his bedside clock render everything an icy blue. The wrapper fluttering between Eiri’s fingers once contained a chocolate... something-or-other. No brand he recognizes, but apparently it’s tiramisu flavored, and Eiri is sure that’s just a fancy way of saying it’s meant to taste like coffee. This is almost as annoying as being woken up in the first place. 

Haku’s here, though. In the same bed, turned away from him. Eiri’s eyes travel from shoulders, to abdomen, to hip, and considers poking Haku until he’s awake. Shaking answers from him. _What does this actually taste like? I think you’re being taken in by dumbass marketing. Don’t bring it into my bed._

That’s when Haku makes a sound. It’s hard to place, at first. For all his faults as a roommate, snoring has never been one of them. Haku is much more likely to sprawl over and around Eiri. Moving out from under him without being noticed becomes as difficult as defusing a bomb. Eiri doesn’t know why he bothers being polite about it.

He leans in, one of his ears just above Haku’s shoulder. Yes, the sound is still there. It takes a while to place, but then he pins it down. It’s the muffled whimper, deep in one’s throat; the noise just before a sob.

_A nightmare?_

He knows Haku must have them, even if he’s never asked. Everyone does, and his Messiah has reason more than most people. But Haku keeps those things to himself, which is understandable. If Eiri ever talks about his own dreams, it’s the stupid stuff that seems grotesque enough while you’re stranded in them, but transform into a joke once you’re a wake. 

Rawer, truer dreams remain the domain of his mind and nowhere else. No one else.

Whatever the details might be, Haku is experiencing the latter type of nightmare. And it’s unnerving. Those hands move slowly, like Haku is submerged in a swimming pool and he’s trying to punch someone. Eiri- who’s never stopped hovering- angles his head in to get a look at Haku’s face. His jaw is clenched, and there’s a deep crease between his eyebrows. Haku typically looks young when he sleeps, and he still looks young now. That only adds to the sense of disquiet. 

Eiri’s first instinct is to elbow him awake, to haul Haku away from this thing that’s still chasing him. 

But Eiri’s spent around a lot of people who deal in superstitions as prolifically as they deal in drugs or guns. And so many people were clear on this basic point; abruptly wake someone from a nightmare and they’ll die from the shock. Leave them to it. These things are forgotten in the morning, anyway. 

There should be a temptation to roll over, and cover his ears with pillows. Except Eiri is hearing this for a reason and that makes it his responsibility. He’s done this before, anyway. He’s stood way up high, observed Haku from a distance, and been more than prepared to annihilate anything that would hurt him. Eiri pictures dreary thought bubbles spiking around Haku’s head. He pictures bullets piercing them, shattering them, transforming those memories into scentless smoke. 

There comes a point where imagination is wearying, and inaction invites shame. He still can’t bring himself to shake Haku, but Eiri can attempt a gradual awakening into comfort. Haku is on his side, and it’s simple enough to slip a hand in the empty space between neck and bed. Push it through until he could, potentially, wrap that arm around Haku’s chest. Instead, he catches a flailing hand. He cautiously links their fingers together. Haku’s palm is sweaty, but it stills almost immediately. Even separated by the borderland of between sleep and consciousness, their bodies know each other.

With his other hand, Eiri rubs Haku’s shoulder. Carefully, carefully, in slow sedate circles. Nothing that would disturb sleep. But, perhaps, adequate enough to reach someone in a dream. Inch by inch, Eiri moves closer, until his stomach and chest are a knife’s edge from Haku’s back. He must be doing something right, because that terrible, quiet sound has stopped. The bed trembles a little below them, still.

Haku’s sides have always been bony and sharp, like his very body tries to reject any sort of connection. Eiri shuffles closer anyway, draping his arm over Haku’s abdomen, suddenly realizing that this is a hug. That’s what it’s been all this time. He waits and listens, as Haku’s breathing reaches a kind of stability. Eiri knows when the trembling stops, because he can hold on even easier. 

“Eiri?” Haku doesn’t turn to look at him. Makes no comment about their pose, even though it’s obvious he’s staring towards their intertwined fingers. It’s uncertain whether Haku can truly see them, or if he needs to wait for his eyes to adjust. It’s certain that he can feel it.

“I’m here.” Eiri squeezes onto Haku’s hand, hard. He does it until it must be obvious that all of this is real. 

“Did you wake me up?” Haku doesn’t sound angry. If anything, he twists his head so that it’s resting more clearly on Eiri’s arm. 

“No, you woke yourself up,” It’s the kind of thing he might yell in the morning, while a half dozen alarm clocks protest all around him. It’s a bit different now, in these unshakable hours, deep into the night. He was there to be a kind of fumbling comfort when Haku returned to consciousness. But _Haku_ had to be the one to leave his nightmare. To resurface back into the world.

“But you’re _here_.” Haku says things like this like, sometimes, whenever he’s been knocked off his feet. It’s rare, but disaster or delight shakes candidness out of him every so often. And Eiri doesn’t have to guess why his own continued existence is such a shock. 

“I am. I’ll stay.” 

“Yeah, I know you will.”

This is another thing that would play out differently in daylight hours. Then he would contradict such a bold claim. Tonight he hums something noncommittal, and closes his eyes. Haku must have showered just before bed. He smells like shampoo that comes from bottles that are as bright as candy wrappers. This makes Eiri imagine sweets that taste like soap and he makes a face into the back of Haku’s neck. 

He’s brought his Messiah back, safely enough. The question of responsibility still lingers, though. He really should say something, to punctuate this moment, but that’s not easy to do. ‘It’s okay,’ wouldn’t be true. Certain things will never be okay, no matter how long you live. ‘It’s over,’ would be another lie. Some events went on and on, even after they were over.

“Hey, Haku?” He says, not waiting for a reply. “You got through it.” _You’re still here, too._

Still no response, and it’s a relief. If Haku had attempted a genuine conversation, Eiri knows he would have come up short. Instead, he drifts off, and almost believes Haku hadn’t heard a word of that last bit. He thinks Haku turns around his arms, and that motion briefly curtails Eiri’s own unruly dreams. Later he will be pretty sure they fell asleep facing each other, holding onto each other. They won’t talk about any of this in the morning, but they will both know it happened. It’s not something that’s easy to forget.


End file.
